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TRIFLES, 



IMITATIVE OF 



THE CHASTER STYLE OF 



MELEAGER 




EgM* tf otcLXSt, (puXaLSTil. 



Harm us not, seamen!— o'er the watery wild, 
With empty bark and troubled hearts we rove; 

Vm Meleager, and yon little child, 

That sits, so watchful, at the helm, is Love. 



LONDON 



f% 



PRINTED FOR CARPENTER AND SON, 
OLD BOND STREET. 



1818. 



r 



>s 



J. M'Creery, Printer, 

Jilack-Ilorse-Cour t, London. 



TO 

THOMAS MOORE, ESQ. 

THESE CORRECTED 

PIECES 

ARE RESPECTFULLY PRESENTED, 

IN 

ADMIRATION OF HIS TALENTS, 

AND 

GRATITUDE FOR HIS ATTENTIONS, 

BY 
HIS FAITHFUL SERVANT, 

THE AUTHOR 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



THE greater part of this Score of Trifles has 
been printed before, under a different form and 
title. They are chiefly the produce of hours mis- 
spent at the University, and are now re-edited 
from a desire of repairing the fault of youth, and 
erasing those pieces, whose glow of colouring dis- 
honoured the first collection. 

It may not be amiss to inform the English 
reader, that some of the following pieces owe 
nothing to Meleager but their cast of sentiment ; 
others imitate their original throughout ; and a 
few approach very nearly to translation. 



CONTENTS. 



Spring 7 

Death 9 

To the Nightingale 11 

Sickness 13 

Nectar 16 

The Moon 17 

Remembrance 19 

Sleep .21 

Matins 22 

Absence 24 

Beauty 26 

Night 27 

Retirement 29 

Spring 31 

A Calm 34 

Memory • 36 

The Bee 38 

To Woman 39 

An Evening Meditation 41 

The Wounded Lark 42 

Verses on the Death of a Friend at the Battle of 

Waterloo 45 

To Lamia 47 




TRIFLES, 



SPRING. 



AsifAxvt;, ri fAaraia. xofjuuq ETTt <J>at$£* yi\are ; 



He comes, to liberate the earth, 
1 With healing on his wing ;' 

And Joy leaps up, and Love, and Mirth, 
To greet the infant Spring !— 



8 

Where'er the beauteous wanderer treads, 
Herb and flower put forth their heads, 

To court his life-inspiring kiss ; 
And, hark ! the wild bird's rondelay 
Proclaims aloud from every spray, 

The age of love and bliss. 

Alas ! how cold, how dull the heart, 

That leaps not to the Spring ! 
That feels not every nobler part 

Alive, and blossoming I 
Thou, Lamia, dearly lov'st to rove 
Along the mead, the vale, the grove, 

And feast on nature's ecstacy ; 
Yet still, with stern, unpitying face, 
Canst on thy lover's anguish gaze, 

And let him droop and die ! 



9 



DEATH. 



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Yes, I will weep for thee, though vain my tears : 
Yes, I will mourn thee, love thee, bless thee still; 

Still fondly press my widowed lips to thine ; 
Though thine are silent now, and pale, and chill. 



10 

Mary ? Ah ! whither, whither art thou fled ? — 
Death's envious hand hath held thee prisoner : 

Remorseless Death hath seiz'd my darling flower, 
And strewn her beauties o'er th' untimely bier ! 

Oh Thou, the Guardian Spirit, that gave her birth ! 

Take back thy child, and fold her to thy breast. 
If Death must have his triumph — Earth her clay — 

Yet waft the ransom'd soul unto thy rest. 



I 



11 



TO 



THE NIGHTINGALE 



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Oh ! waste no more on ■ night's dull ear* 

Thy plaintive melody ; 
But, swift as love's impatient wish, 

To Juliet's pillow fly ; 
And softly say, ' He waits for thee, 

■ With aching heart and weary eye.' 



12 

Haste, Philomel, and say, ' awake ! 

' He waits — thy lover true — 
< Tis silence all — no eye abroad, 

1 Your fond delights to view. 
* The very flowers are fast asleep, 

' Beneath their veils of balmy dew :'— 

' Awake, awake !' Then if she comes, 

This shall thy zeal repay ; 
To share with me her fragrant lip, 

Her eye's delicious play ; 
To be our Spring's young melodist,* 

And shame the cuckoo's bill away. 



* The rustic superstition to which these Hues allude, is 
sweetly explained by Milton's Sonnet to the Nightingale. 



1 



13 



SICKNESS, 



Av<moq 



Confined within the city's gloom, 
To circuit of the close sick room, 

Rack'd with pain, and wan with tears- 
Fve nought to do from morn till night, 
But ponder on my wretched plight ; 

And trace again my boyish years. 

I hate to pore with giddy eye, 
On wave-like crowds that wander by, 
Yet seek my couch for rest in vain ; 



14 

Whoop, horn, and wheel, commingling here, 
Like demon-tongues, astound mine ear, 
And call my senses back to pain. 

Oh ! for Chemarron's mossy shade, 
Where violet-banks my pillow made ; 

And oh ! for Risil's moonlight vale ! 
The rudest sounds that durst intrude 
On that delicious solitude, 

Were vespers of the nightingale. 

And which the maid I long for now, 
To hold my fever-shatter'd brow, 

And speak in pity's fondest tone ? 
Is it the ball-room's queenly fair ? 
Or she that seem'd my wish to share, 

But knew of love the pomp alone ? 



15 

Ah no ! — Tis nature's simple child, 
Whose love my early cares beguiFd, 

So innocent, so kind, so true ; — 
Yes, Lilla, this sad heart has stray'd, 
Since boyhood's prime, to many a maid, 

But ne'er found one that lov'd like you, 



16 



NECTAR. 



lino, tot avxjxvgav H-^av aTroTrgotyvydfo* 
Zsu TTaTE^, ago. <piXr)fxa to vstflageoY ravu/ttti&uj 
<rrivaq 7 xai rofe <roi ^siteo-iv ot\o%oet. 



Athirst and faint, and woe begone^ 
I sunk before young Rosaline, 

The pitying angel rais'd my head, 
And press'd her balmy lip to mine. 

That kiss was life ! Oh, such I cried, 
The nectar Jove delights to sip : 

He calls for drink, and Hebe pours 
Her dewy kisses on his lip. 



17 



THE MOON 



h nog etXAc? ££<w£> via, TTctiyvta', 



My jealous bosom loathes the light, 
That glares along the midnight sky, 
For oh ! it brings to memory's eye, 

The distant scene of past delight, 

The visionary glance of days gone by ! 



18 

And now to my prophetic fears, 
It seems to cast an evil ray, 
Guiding some new Endymion's way 

To Her, who in our happier years, 

AssaiPd and won, then threw my heart away ! 



19 



REMEMBRANCE. 



fjLVAfxa. <f>iX©<J>£OS-yva?. 



When sick at heart, and sick in head, 
I roll upon my sleepless bed, 

No friend to cheer me ; 
I think upon the happy hours, 
In which I rov'd thro' Lunedale's bowers, 

And you were near me ; 
But, Lilla — ? No, it cannot be ! 

Our young hearts beat, 

In tune so sweet, 
Your thoughts must wander still with me. 
B2 



20 

In Erin's land I tune in vain 

My once lov'd flute ! — its mellow strain 

Does but distress me ; 
For happy times come floating by, 
When you would praise its minstrelsy, 

And, smiling, bless me ; 
But, Lilla — ? No, it cannot be ! 

So sad you parted — 

So broken hearted — 
You still must love, still sigh for me ! 



21 



SLEEP. 



ioq iiri e-oi (xrtf tiros, o Hal &io$ ofXfxareL Qs\ywv f 
<poiTho-ai) naraSSo ¥ avrog \yv tri fxovog. 



How blest am I, by Lilla's couch, 
A lover's anxious watch to keep ; 

And, bending o'er her snowy lids, 
To study, till I envy, sleep ! 

To soothe her thus in soul and limb — 
To bathe that lip — to move that sigh- 

Oh Sleep ! the very shapes of Light 
Might envy thee such ministry I 



22 



MATINS 



Kcu nei8oo fxCQovg kcu ykvxv ^EiXoc "Egoos* 



Inebriate with the morning dew, 

How sweet he sings his song of gladness I 
In truth, that bird's light melody 

Might charm to peace the heart of sadness 
But dearer, love, and sweeter far, 

The timid tones I heard from thee, 
The timid tones that first declared 

Thy heart had known no lord but me. 



23 

We will not pluck this modest rose, 

So glitt Ying with the dews of morning : 
The poet's flower — how sweet its breath ! 

How rich the hues its cup adorning ! 
But fairer, love, and sweeter far, 

The blushing flower I took from thee — 
The lip of virgin innocence, 

The lip that none has press'd but me. 



24 



ABSENCE 



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%<u fxh Iftl rEg£fi(v, tcsivov tf lyo) Swore \L^tiv 
afxoc-afAW" Koivhv £' h)(iTt (Aagrvgtvv* 



Night's glorious eye that shines above, 

Beheld us sever, 
Vowing we'd never cease to love, 

No, never never ! 
Nor cast a look on maid or swain, 
Till, trials o'er, we met again. 



25 

Thou seest how true, how lorn am I ! — 

Does she still treasure 
Kind thoughts of me ? — Does she still sigh 

O'er our past pleasure ? 
Or has she played the woman's part, 
And given for gold her faithless heart? 



26 



BEAUTY 



Hv lo-fooo ®r)£Wet 7 va >arav&* 0£w 



Merrily sings the mounting lark, 

And the hope in my bosom sings merrily too, 
He is gone to adore the rising sun, 
And I so true, 

Lilla, my darling, to gaze on you. 

What bliss ! to lose my rapturous soul 
In wandering over that angel face — 

It is not for the lily, the diamond, or rose, 
But that I trace 
Truth, virtue, and love, in that angel face. 



27 



NIGHT 






The die is cast. It boots me not 
To dally with remembrance now — 

I've learn'd to dress my lip in smiles, 
And lift once more a cloudless brow. 

But ever at the secret hour, 

They rush upon my feverish brain, 

The face, the voice, the phantasies — 
Oh ! — let me, let me sleep again ! — 



28 

Hast thou, upon thy husband's bed, 

Hast thou thy dark imaginings ? 
No, no ! Thank Heaven, thy calm, cold breast 

Never can know my sufferings. 

Obedient to thy lightest will 

Sleep spreads his downy plume for thee — 
Calls fairy forms around thy bed, 

And lets his demons loose on me ! 



29 



RETIREMENT. 






From Love's delusions timely fled, 
And lost within this calm retreat, 

The linnet chanting o'er my head, 
The leveret grazing at my feet, 

I'll live as innocent and free, 

As the lovely things that encircle me. 



30 

Glancing through yon old sycamore, 

The distant water takes the eye, 
And as the opening leaves roll o'er, 

A sun-white sail is gliding by ; 
Nought else is here, to call my mind 
To the fair, false things I've left behind. 

On, triflers, on : and as ye go, 

I'll scan the aim that bids you rove. 

If avarice, your meed be woe ! — 
And bitter penitence, if love. 

The wealth you build on shall work your fall, 

And the lip you think honey shall turn to gall, 



31 
SPRING. 



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Shall the Poet's spirit sleep, 

When love, and life, and glee, aboundeth ? 
Shall his lips their silence keep, 

When all around with praise resoundeth ? 



32 

Freshening in the vernal dew, 
Earth puts on a livelier hue ; 
Sighing soft, the amorous air 
Teems with odour, rich and rare ; 
Every tree and shrub is dight 
With crimson bud, or blossom white ; 
Every laughing mead discloses 
Lilies, violets, and roses : 
Shepherds whistle, blithe and shrill, 
From rocky cliff and sunny hill ; 
Sportive kid, and graceful fawn, 
Frolic o'er the dewy lawn ; 
Sails slowly forth the cygnet brood ; 
Halcyons skim the placid flood ; 
The boatman lifts a bolder oar, 
And pushes, fearless, from the shore ; 
Busy bee, and wanton fly, 
Hum their matins merrily ; 



33 

Larks are piping high above, 

And Echo rings through all the grove, 

The choral shout, ' I love, I love !' 

Wake, Poetic Spirit, wake ! 

For love, and life, and glee, aboundeth, 
Tuneful lips, your silence break ! 

For all the earth with praise resoundeth, 



34 



A CALM. 



$4vtoy U %«f ottov h§KOfABvav wiXetyo?. 



There are no bounds between the sea and sky- 
Above, below, 'tis all one heavenly blue ; 

The bird that sports around our little mast, 
Seems sporting in the lucid waters too. 

I say not— how thy pure, ethereal soul 

Is o'er thy dark blue eye thus fondly shed — * 

How every lightsome thought that issues thence 
Plays in thy glance, thus brightly imaged — 



35 

But I will 'mind thee, love, while thus, alone, 
We seem to navigate the midway sky, 
How calm and blest must be our homeward voyage, 
When God shall launch us on eternity. 



C2 



36 



MEMORY. 



Ai« fJLot Mvev fxh Iv icta-iv n)(OQ s^rog* 



The voice that dwells within this simple flute, 
Can banish sorrow when my mood is saddest ; 
Or when, in festal hour, they riot maddest, 

Can lay my spirits motionless and mute : 
For in my heart a chord of feeling lies 
That answers, trembling, to its melodies. 



37 

Yes, every passion hangs upon thy strain, 
But chief o'er memory thy power is proved ; 
Thou dost but touch the melody she loved, 

And lo ! my lost Eliza breathes again ! 

Mock'd by thy mellow tones, my fancy hears 
Her thrilling voice, and welcomes it with tears, 



38 



THE BEE 



'AvQoMaiTe fj,e'hior<ra 9 rl fxoi XZ°°S *HXwWg«c 

n crv ye ftnvveig on xcu yXvuv xeu Svtrvirotfw 
mitgQV ael HgetMa, xsvt§ov t£MTo$ e/ei ; 



Thou hateful Bee ! that quitt'st the flow'rs of spring, 
To taste on Mary's lip a flower more fair, 

Woe ! to thy bitter soul, that left a sting 
In lieu of the delights it ravish'd there ! 

'Twas thus your image stole into my breast ; 

Thus bitter, Mary, did its visit prove : 
It found contentment there, and peace, and rest ; 

It left the agony of hopeless love ! 



39 



TO WOMAN 



Avra, yag /c*f Bfxot y^k^rai ®£o$. 



Oh thou ! by heaven ordain'd to be 
Arbitress of Man's destiny ! 
From thy sweet lip one tender sigh, — 
One glance from thine approving eye, — 
Can raise or bend him at thy will, 
To virtue's noblest flights, or worst extremes of ill ! 



40 

Be angel-minded ! and despise 
Thy sex's little vanities ; 
And let not passion's lawless tide 
Thy better purpose sweep aside; 
For woe awaits the evil hour, 
That lends to Man's annoy thy heaven-entrusted power. 

Woman ! 'tis thine to cleanse his heart 
From every gross, unholy part ; 
Thine, in domestic solitude, 
To win him to be wise and good ; 
His pattern, guide, and friend, to be, 
To give him back the heaven he forfeited for thee. 



41 



AN 



EVENING MEDITATION. 



GctVMV "kafATTUS, 



I love to watch yon little western cloud, 
So brightly coloured by the setting sun : 

See, how it lessens — lost each glorious hue ! — 
Touches the veil of twilight — and is gone ! 

Oh ! grant my soul, kind heaven, a doom like this ! 

So soft, so mild, to quit this frame of clay ; 
To shine awhile in friendship's partial eye, 

Then, like yon happy vapour, pass away ! 



42 



THE WOUNDED LARK 



Owe rv\ /u.', ooq ro mk%oq, TfvxtvaXq ifltgvyBaro'iv IgeoronVy 



I cannot save thee, wretched thing, 
With throbbing heart and bloody wing — 

Too true the gunner's shot hath sped ! 
Go, hide thee in thy lowly nest. 
Twas once the place of Peace and Rest, 

But now — cold Misery's dying bed ! 



43 

Oh ! how unlike the form so bright 
That sprung to greet the march of Light, 

Elastic, nervous, blithe, and free ; 
And, kindling at his upcast rays, 
Pour'd through the heavens wild hymns of praise, 

And rous'd the earth to matin glee. 

At that blest call from dreams I sprung, 
To sue, with hope-inspired tongue, 

For love's young smile in Lamia's face. 
No look of gathering kindness shone, 
But seem'd to make that heaven my own, 

My spirit's own bright resting-place. 

A prouder minstrel might be vain 

To hear the nymphs commend my strain, 

For all, save One, my skill would tell, 
And yet from half-averted smile, 
And soft reproof, I judg'd the while 

She lov'd my sonnets passing well. 



44 

False hope ! false heart ! Another's bride ? 
But I by Rotha's lonely side 

Am wandering slow and silently ; 
Content, as this poor dying thing, 
To hide my soul's deep suffering 

Alike from scorn, or charity. 




45 



VERSES 

OCCASIONED BY THE DEATH OF CAPTAIN , OF THE — 

REGIMENT OF DRAGOONS, WHO FELL IN THE BATTLE OF 
WATERLOO. 



Qao-oofjisv Kirov xu^oc *X iiV *p £ Tay* 

BACCHYL. 



Esteem'd, admir'd, beloved in vain, 
Thou liest on the battle plain : 
Still the high pulse : the spirit fled : 
All, but thy glory, perished I 

Alas ! for the survivor's fate, 
So cheerless now, so desolate ! 
Yet in his tears, though sad they flow, 
Shall pride and envy mix with woe. 



46 

Tell him, ye bards, how sweetly rest 
The souls by grateful nations blest ! 
How bright the memory of those 
That, dying, win the world repose ! 



47 



TO LAMIA. 



When life shall lack the gallant trim 
That now she waves in fancy's eye, 

If haply thou shouldst think on Him 
Thy cruel art first taught to sigh ; 

Or musing, sad, on passions gone, 
If e'er thine alter'd heart should say, 

" Does He still prize the selfish one 
11 That stole his bosom peace away ?" 






48 



Oh ! then receive the kind reply, 
Then trust the tale these verses give, 

" His heart, though stung so cruelly, 
" Does still regard thee— and forgive." 




Printed by J. M'Creery. 

Black-Horse-Court, London. 






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